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Journalism of Courage
It was a time for celebration. At the end of a gruelling exercise in the desert in high summer, some officers and jawans got together in the cool of the night atop a sand dune to mark an important event in their professional careers. But when the time came to laugh and be merry, an awkward silence reigned.
It was then that a young Naga, whom everybody had considered a quiet, reclusive type, got up to sing. Beating a tune out on his mess tin, he began, 8220;Mein desh key sub se purab wala pradesh se ata hoon. Aap log ne kum hi dekha hai. Aur mein aap ke liye gana gaoonga I am from the easternmost state of the country. You all have not seen much of my state. And I am going to sing you a song.8221;
He has many faiths, but he puts his faith aside for his buddies. He comes from different parts of the country, but is ultimately an Indian. He pines for his home, village, friends and family but will still fight on. He is loyal to the core, to the last round in his rifle. He has learnt his craft well enough to become an instructor 8212; sometimes even to the officers.
He eats what is made in the company cookhouse and he does not lift weights in a fancy gym, but he is tough. So tough in fact that the Special Forces of some western countries refused on one occasion to operate with him in the terrain that he regularly serves in.
The expertise in glacial high-altitude warfare is not the preserve of only Ladakhis in the Army, but even those from the Madras Regiment. But despite thetoughness and the ability to withstand enormous physical and mental pressures, this soldier could quite easily crack up under the strain that his young wife has to cope with, back in the village. Scavengers loom large across the country, feeding on the land-holdings of those serving in every terrain known to man. Should he die, he knows that his buddies will not just zip him up in a bag, but he cannot be sure whether his family has the wherewithal to cope with the tragedy. It is this fear that haunts him.
While other Indians who work for the government manoeuvre their way to earn a salary closer to home, this Indian travels willingly to any part of the country, in any season, and under any circumstances. From any and every corner of the country, he will move, in big lumbering trucks, or in agonisingly slow trains that constantly have to make way for the superfasts.
From the shunting track, without the benefit of a cabin fan or even enough water in the washroom for a cooling splash, he will watch theRajdhanis and Shatabdis go by. But he takes this in his stride. If fate has determined that he remains on a shunting track, so be it. If fate has determined that the number three in the patrol goes down a crevasse in the region of the Siachen Glacier, so be it. He will certainly carry on. It8217;s a fatalism determined by faith and professionalism.
There are many faiths in his profession 8212; all of them followed with equal devotion. He is deeply religious 8212; his profession is wont to make one so. But he also respects every faith in his unit. And as far as his officers are concerned, it is his faith that they follow. If he happens to be serving in the Jammu and Kashmir Light Infantry, his officers too will keep the Ramzan fast. Or attend the mandir, gurudwara and the church, as the case may be.
What8217;s more, he will even make new gods should the need ever arise. Before any jump, every paratrooper 8212; whatever his faith 8212; will cry, 8220;Chhatri mata ki jai.8221;
The privilege of attending, and participatingin, an Assam Rifles Dussehra celebration is one that can never be forgotten. It is truly the best example of Indians from every district of the country celebrating together. This event is conducted out of a sense of belonging, not just as an empty demonstration of togetherness.
It is this sense of belonging with his brothers in uniform which can makes the soldier achieve military objectives that his more fancily equipped counterpart in other armies may simply not even undertake. And so he slips on his unwieldy snow boots, tucks in his vintage-issue warm trousers, buttons up his bulky parka, counts the ammunition, checks the mechanism of his excellent INSAS 5.56 mm assault rifle, and prepares to take on the Pakistan army from Tololing, Point 5140, Jubar or anywhere else. Because only he can; for only he is The Indian Soldier.
8212; Manvendra Singh
